Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  It wasn't a stellar plan, but it was the only one he had.

  The brunette stumbled, trying to speak, but the words got lost beneath one heavy pulse of music and the next.

  Tristan pressed on, slipping between dancers until a clear space opened up around him and the woman on his arm. In the center of the dance floor, he turned toward her, only for her to shrink away from him, turning her head side to side as if looking for an exit.

  Bodies closed in around them, boxing her into the little space he'd cleared.

  Her hands trembled and her face paled when she realized there was no escape. Fear and panic rose like a cloud in her gaze before she squeezed her eyes closed, effectively closing him out.

  Why was she so afraid?

  "I won't hurt you, I promise. Just dance with me." He pulled her closer, leaving her no choice.

  "I told you I can't dance," she protested anyway. Her lower lip trembled again. When she cracked her eyes open again, fear burned in the depths.

  Tristan bit back a curse, trying not to frighten her further. It wasn't her fault he'd dragged her onto the dance floor, and he didn't exactly blame her for being afraid in a place like this. "Sure you can," he said, offering her a confident smile. "I'll lead."

  She shook her head back and forth, moisture welling in her eyes. "No, you don't understand. My leg…."

  He swept his gaze down her body to the leg she indicated with a flutter of her hand, but saw nothing wrong. Not even close. He sized her up, his gaze traveling slow and steady over her body.

  Jesus, she was beautiful.

  Lithe and willowy, yet soft in all the right places.

  Appreciation wound through him.

  Leaning forward, he let his warm breath stir tendrils of hair along her neck. Praying she didn't slap him, he trailed his hand down her hip, onto her upper thigh, and then squeezed once, his eyes locked on hers. "Your legs are perfect."

  She trembled again. The soft brown color of her eyes darkened, making it clear she trembled in response to his touch this time, at least partly. The flush in her cheeks deepened.

  Tristan bit back a groan when he noticed the way that blush extended down the long line of her neck before disappearing beneath her blouse.

  Who was she?

  Better yet, why the hell was she here?

  Quelling the urge to ask her that particular question, he inched his hand further down her thigh. The pull of his palm on the fabric of her skirt gave way to the glide of bare skin across bare skin. And then he felt the long surgical line branded into her thigh. Healed, but still puckered where staples had recently held her flesh together. The pitted muscle surrounding the scar made him wince.

  He lifted his eyes to hers.

  Humiliation and pain swam in her gaze.

  Tristan swallowed the question hovering on the tip of his tongue. Whatever had happened to her leg… she didn't want to talk about it.

  "Rod or plates?" he asked instead of prying for answers she didn't owe him.

  She blinked. "What?"

  "Rod or plates?" He placed his fingers over the scar in explanation of his question.

  "Both." Her lower lip quivered on the word.

  Jesus. No wonder she didn't dance.

  A steel rod and plates welded and fused to bone didn't make movement easy. But then again, he didn't need her to breakdance. He just needed her to sway those sexy little hips of hers for a few minutes.

  "Hang on to me," he murmured into her ear and then hitched her thigh around his hip.

  She twined her arms around his neck, her wide eyes startled.

  Another shiver rippled through her when he pressed his body into hers.

  Damn, but she felt good wrapped up with him like this.

  "Follow my lead," he said, supporting her weight with little effort.

  She hesitated for a long moment, her eyes locked on his. And then she began to move, her body gliding against his with skilled ease. Her soft curves grazed against his body. Their hips swiveled in unison, the heat of her center damn close to his dick.

  Bit by bit, the pained look in her eyes leeched away.

  A triumphant smile bloomed across her flushed face, seeming to light her up from the inside out.

  "Christ, you're beautiful," he murmured, reaching out to touch her cheek.

  The move shocked him as much as it did her.

  "I… thank you."

  Their eyes locked, her pupils dilating as she stared at him.

  A sexual undercurrent moved between them, too obvious to be ignored.

  Tristan didn't really want to ignore it anyway. The feel of her silky skin beneath his fingertips, her sweet floral scent, and that beautiful smile made his stomach twist. His body begged him to ignore his own rules about casual hook-ups in places like this and pull her closer.

  When his fingertips met the angry, puckered flesh of her thigh, an almost foreign emotion thrummed in his chest. He desperately wanted to ask what had caused the haunted look in her eyes and the brutal scar on her body, but instinct told him not to push. It wasn't his business.

  Instead, he glanced out over the dance floor, searching for his blond shadow.

  The man was nowhere to be found in the sea of contorting and twisting bodies.

  Tristan's ploy had actually worked.

  He turned back to thank the brunette for saving his ass, but the words died on his lips.

  Her warm brown eyes were half closed, her lips parted as she swayed against him. The enraptured look on her face took his breath away. His cock hardened, all thoughts of hidden labs and unfamiliar Vetrov family associates vanishing in a cloud of lilac, freesia, and gut-twisting smiles.

  "I'm dancing," she said. Another beautiful smile lit up her face. Her eyes fluttered open to lock on his again. "Oh my god, I'm actually dancing!" She laughed, joy radiating from her expression.

  The sound of her laugh poured across him like honey. It was tinkling and light, carefree and sultry at the same time. Desire hit him hard, combined with relief, and sent euphoria bubbling toward dangerous levels.

  "What's your name, beautiful?" He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear before pulling back to gauge her reaction.

  "Lillian," she answered, shivering in his arms.

  "I'm Tristan. You're absolutely gorgeous, Lillian. Why are you here?" He didn't mean to ask, but the question popped out before he could call it back.

  Lillian sighed, the sound wistful and vulnerable as hell. "To forget."

  His eyebrows rose.

  What the hell could she possibly want to forget badly enough to come here?

  Before he could draw breath to ask, she leaned into him, seeming to make a decision. Determination flared in her eyes. Between one heartbeat and the next, the vulnerable beauty he'd dragged onto the dance floor blossomed into a siren. She pressed herself closer to him and tilted her head to the side, granting him access to the pale column of her throat.

  After the day he'd had, that one little move was all the invitation he needed. His lips descended upon her skin of their own volition, tasting her as he'd wanted to do since her scent first swirled around him. Her taste burst on his tongue, sweet and salty at once. Perfect.

  He raked his teeth across the delicate flesh of her throat, teasing her.

  Her hands tightened around him, drawing him closer.

  "Do you want me to stop?" he whispered into her skin.

  Her body trembled.

  Time seemed to stand still for a long moment.

  And then, "No," she groaned. "Please don't."

  Lust exploded in him at her response, bringing with it a roaring hunger. How long had it been since he'd fucked anyone? Six months? Seven? Too long, he decided, grazing his teeth across Lillian's throat again.

  "Oh God," she said when he sucked her soft skin into his mouth, then flicked his tongue across it, feeling the quick flutter of her pulse between his lips. She pressed her body into him, crushing her breasts into his chest.

  The warm heat of her center
rubbed against his cock, setting him on fire. He bucked his hips into her, gripping her thigh carefully in his hands so as not to hurt her. He had no idea how long ago she'd sustained her injury, but he knew how easy damaging the already shattered bone could be. He didn't want to cause her more pain.

  "Please." She nuzzled her face into his neck, circling her hips with his.

  "Please what, sweetheart?" He pressed into her again, fighting the urge to slide her skirt up her little body and grasp her ass to twine her legs about his waist. He just knew her ass would be firm and supple beneath his hands, the swells of her cheeks fitting perfectly into his palms.

  "Please," she gasped again, pressing forward to grind against him…. Telling him with her body what she needed.

  He wanted to hear her say the words though. Unless she was damn sure she wanted this, he wouldn't touch her. And some part of him needed to hear her tell him what she needed from him. That part wanted her to willingly hand over control to him, at least for a little while.

  "Tell me," he said, letting that instinctive, dominate part lead. He arched his hips away from the temptation of her pussy, physically demanding she obey and give him what he wanted.

  "Touch me," she said, her soft voice trembling. "Please, Tristan."

  Satisfaction rocketed through him with her words.

  He growled low in his throat and rocked his hips back into hers. His cock settled between her legs. A longing to feel her slick heat wrapped around him coursed through his veins. Need drowned out the music, the crowd, the reality of whose club they were in, his close call with the blond… everything but the urge to bury himself inside of her and hear her little, throaty moans as he fucked her right where they stood.

  Christ, wouldn't that be a sight?

  He slid his hand down her back and onto the swell of her ass, pulling her more fully into him.

  "Are you sure about this, sweetheart?" He slipped his hand under her skirt to squeeze her ass, only to find thin lace and hot skin beneath. The lacy scrap of fabric against his palm set his head to spinning.

  "I-" Her whole body tensed.

  He froze, his conscience roaring to life as fear flickered through her dilated eyes. Awareness began to trickle back in, reminding him of where they were. He couldn't fuck her in Anton Vetrov's club. Even if the dancers didn't notice – and he was confident they wouldn't see anything unless he stripped Lillian naked right then and there – doing this here would be madness. Complete insanity.

  "Yes. Please," she said, pulling his attention back to her and away from where they were. Nervous tension still whispered from her, but desperation laced her tone. She was as turned on as she was afraid, and right then, she seemed hell bent on ignoring the latter.

  A gentleman wouldn't have pushed her any further. But Tristan had never pretended to be a gentleman, and he understood her predicament entirely. He knew all about the desire to get lost in something beautiful for a while. Hell, he felt the same. Their surroundings and the danger be damned, he wanted in.

  His resolve wavered between obeying that desire, and denying her need and his own.

  He couldn't fuck her here.

  He couldn't.

  "Please, don't stop, Tristan. I want this. I need it."

  With that one breathless, yearning plea from her lips, desire won.

  He wouldn't fuck her here, but he would give her the escape she craved.

  He swept the hand he'd buried in her lacy panties across her ass and around her hip. When his fingers came into contact with soft curls and her slick folds, a low groan tumbled from his lips.

  "Christ, you're soaked, sweetheart."

  She nodded.

  He slid his hand lower, and slipped his fingers between her folds. Another groan broke free at the feel of her silky heat on his fingers. With his thumb, he grazed her clit.

  "Oh… fuck!" She jerked against his hand.

  Tristan gave himself over to the heady feeling she sent rising inside him, relishing the experience… the loss of inhibition and control spiraling through him with the force of a bomb. He wanted to taste her, to spread her wide and dive head first into her honey-coated folds until she came on his tongue.

  How long had it been since anyone had turned him on so effortlessly?

  He didn't know, but watching her was hypnotic. Tension melted from her body as she moved, her head tilted back and her lids half closed. She moaned, bucking her hips into his hand, pressing her body closer to his. Another wave of lust speared through him when she delved her hands into his hair and tugged hard as if to keep him right where he was… right where she wanted him.

  "Does the rest of you taste as sweet as your skin, Lillian?" he whispered, thrusting one finger deep inside of her. Her inner walls clenched around him, sucking him in deeper, almost seeming to welcome his finger into her as if welcoming him home.

  She was tight. Wet. Perfect.

  "Oh God," she groaned.

  He settled for adding another finger to the first instead of dragging her off of the dance floor and burying his head between her legs as he truly wanted to do. Her pussy clenched around him as he twisted and plunged his fingers inside her. She cried her appreciation into his neck, her lips exploring freely across his throat.

  He pumped his fingers into her harder, understanding the overwhelming freedom that came with escape, perhaps better than she did. For long moments, he lost himself in the feel of her. In the way her moans vibrated against his throat. In the heat of her pussy against his fingers. In the way she smelled so sweet.

  And then his phone vibrated in his pocket, pulling him up short.

  His time was up. Paulo Vetrov would be arriving soon.

  Fuck.

  "I need you to come for me, beautiful," he said, raking his teeth across her earlobe. He wanted to sink his teeth into her throat as she came. He'd never had such an urge before, but it spurred him into making an instant, reckless decision. "You're going to scream my name when you come, and then you're going to meet me here and do the same thing again tomorrow."

  He should have told her to run in the other direction and not look back, but he wanted her to stay right where she was. He wanted her to want to stay. Right then, it didn't matter why. All that mattered was this – his fingers buried in her in the middle of the dance floor. It was eroticism and freedom and pure fucking liquid heat, and he wanted more.

  "Tell me you'll come back, Lillian," he said, twisting his fingers to reach that spot guaranteed to make her crazy.

  It worked like a charm.

  She cried out, gripping his hair tighter as her pussy pulsed around his fingers.

  "Tell me," he said, easing off – not willing to let her tumble over into bliss until she agreed.

  "Yes, I'll come back!" she cried out, her lips still at his neck.

  He let go of her damaged leg and grasped her bound hair in his hand, tipping her head backward. Her lust-filled brown eyes met his.

  Oh, fuck yeah.

  He swooped, devouring her mouth with his own.

  When he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, her inner walls clamped down on his fingers again and then fluttered hard. He growled, her pleasure hitting him like a punch to the gut. She screamed as she came, just as he'd told her she would, breathless cries and a plethora of Oh God's rolling from her lips. He stole them from her, plunging his tongue back into her mouth and kissing her until her body stopped shaking around him and she slumped forward in his arms, sated and breathless.

  "Beautiful," he whispered into her ear, removing his drenched fingers from between her legs and bringing them to his mouth to taste her. He groaned his appreciation at the scent of her arousal coating his fingers, and damn near came in his pants when he tasted her.

  Pure. Fucking. Heaven.

  He licked her juices from his fingers, his cock screaming to be inside of her, to fill her as his fingers had.

  His phone vibrated again. Reality intruded like cold water poured over his head.

  Paulo Vetrov was coming,
and Tristan should have been gone no less than ten minutes ago. He glanced down at Lillian again, torn between his job and making her come for him one more time.

  For the first time since sweeping her onto the dance floor, duty won.

  He released her regretfully, holding onto her waist as her injured leg dropped back to the floor. She pulled herself away from his body to stand on her own. Her legs tremble beneath her before her stance firmed.

  He slid his hands away from her body and into his pockets.

  "Take this," he said, pressing a card into her hand. "It has my information on it."

  She glanced at it and then back up to him, her brow furrowed, her eyes still dilated and hazy.

  "Don't leave it here." The card contained only his first name and a telephone number, but even if his actions with her suggested otherwise, he was nothing if not careful. He had to be cautious to stay alive.

  Lillian's eyes widened at his command, but she nodded and closed her fist tightly around the little square of paper.

  Tristan turned to go and then stopped. He couldn't just leave her here.

  "Come on, beautiful. Let me get you out of here."

  Grabbing her hand in his, he began to lead her through the throng of dancers. Most parted for him without question. He sidestepped the clumsy gyrations of those who did not, ensuring none touched Lillian as he led her toward the exit, hoping like hell she came back to meet him tomorrow.

  Christ, she had to come back.

  Chapter Two

  "Ugh. Go away."

  The shrill ringing of the phone invaded Lillian Maddox's dreams, shattering bliss like fine pieces of glass. She groaned and rolled in her bed, slapping the cluttered table to silence the loud noise, reluctant to wake and face the day. Her dreams had been good… great. She’d been dancing again, completing a series of pirouettes across the stage as music swelled around her. Tristan had waited for her in the wings, his beautiful blue gaze transfixed on her.

  Oh God! Tristan.

  Her eyes flew open wide as the events of the night before came flooding back in a heated rush. She dove for the phone, jerking it from the table. A little glass ballerina wobbled on the wooden tabletop before falling over, one arched foot dangling in the air.